


aquamarine

by eyeslikestarlight



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 12:52:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5049331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeslikestarlight/pseuds/eyeslikestarlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three sunsets shared, one conclusion reached.</p>
            </blockquote>





	aquamarine

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the August 2015 shslrarepairweek. The theme was gemstones and the meanings behind them, and the gemstone for day 1 was aquamarine.

_Aquamarine evokes the purity of crystalline waters, and the exhilaration and relaxation of the sea. It is calming, soothing, and cleansing, and inspires truth, trust, and letting go._   


 

 _1._  
  
The sun is setting, and the crystalline blue waves lap at the shore, dragging sand back with them as they retreat and bury your bare toes in the process.

He’s standing next to you, pant legs rolled up to his knees, a thoughtful expression on his face as he looks towards the horizon.

“Do sunsets remind you of anything, Koizumi?” he wonders a moment later, almost startling you.

You don’t respond, at first. It’s personal, says a little voice in your head, and what right does this man have to pry into your life like that? But then he turns that gaze on you, so full of genuine interest, and your mouth moves before you even realize—

“My mother.” Briefly, you wonder why you told him, then figure you ought to finish now that you’ve started. “We would always watch them together. And even when she’s—even when she’s away from home…”

Here’s where you pause, looking out as the glowing orb almost seems to melt into the waves. “…I can watch it, and I know…somewhere in the world, even if it’s far…she’s looking at the same sky, and thinking of me, too.”

He’s looking at you, and now you wish you hadn’t said anything. Until he says, softly, “That’s beautiful.”

You turn your head, eyes meeting his, and you’re alarmed to find that your heart has begun to beat rather quickly.

“Can I take your picture?” you ask, suddenly, surprising even yourself. He’s startled too, but he nods.

“Yeah. Sure.”

You lift your camera to your eye from where it had rested against your hip, and he shifts slightly. “Should I…pose, or something?” he asks, uncertain.

“No, no. Just—stay like you are,” you say. He relaxes slightly, and you press the button.  _Click._

“Well?” he inquires a moment later, leaning forward just a little, but he doesn’t try to grab the camera away or anything. “How does it look?”

You look down at the screen, at the way the gold-orange rays of sunlight brush his bronzed skin, the way his hazel eyes look at the camera—at you—with an expression you can’t identify, but which makes something warm bloom in your chest.

“You look pretty goofy,” you say with a slight smile, because you don’t know how to tell him that you think he’s beautiful, too.

 

 

_2._

The sun is setting, and he’s asked you to take a walk along the shore. It’s nothing new, and yet there’s a nervous fluttering in your stomach that you can’t explain. Your mind is teasing, recalling every silly romantic movie you’ve ever seen, every ridiculous romance novel—you aggressively shove them aside, because it’s just Hinata.

Just Hinata, who asks you about your life because he genuinely wants to know the answers. Just Hinata, who makes you feel like maybe your talent isn’t so useless. Just Hinata, who is somehow always able to make you smile.

He also manages to make your cheeks feel rather warm, far more often than you would prefer.

But it’s just a casual walk. He asks you about your day, and you tell him about Peko-chan, how you went swimming together and caught a real smile from her.

He tells you about Kuzuryuu and Souda, and how the latter was so determined to get the former to join in with his idiotic shenanigans that he recruited Nidai to storm the yakuza’s cottage and quite literally drag him kicking and screaming. You laugh about how stupid boys can be, and Hinata sheepishly agrees.

Quiet falls eventually, a stillness to the air disturbed only by the gentle sound of waves and the soft shuffling of feet on sand. It’s a comfortable sort of quiet. Comfortable, until you notice how closely you’re walking, how your hand is only inches from his—and suddenly, a hundred butterflies swarm around your stomach as you realize how much you would like to close that gap.

Your hand moves of its own accord, inching closer to his, reaching—but you come to your senses and draw it back. You can feel your face heat, embarrassment and shame, and the mental scolding begins; silly girl, what were you thinking?

And then you feel it: warm fingers, closing over your own.

Your eyes widen, and for a moment, your heart stops beating, only to begin again at a much quicker rate. You stare, lips parted as though you’d like to ask; he keeps walking as though nothing has changed. Nothing except the fact that the red flush of his cheeks matches your own.

He starts talking again, something about Usami’s latest project for everyone, and isn’t it ridiculous? You want to scoff in agreement, but you’re too busy smiling.

 

 

_3._

The sun is setting, and your fingers dig into the damp sand, clasping around a perfectly-shaped scallop shell.

“That’s a nice one,” he remarks, peering over at your new find.

“I loved to collect sea shells as a kid,” you admit, turning it over in your fingers, brushing the remaining bits of sand off before slipping it into the small pocket of your jumper.

He opens his mouth to respond, but something seems to catch his eye, and then he’s leaning down, reaching. When he straightens up again, he’s got a shell of his own.

It’s beautiful—polished to a colorful shine, iridescent purple and  _aquamarine_. It shimmers, catches the last few rays of the setting sun.

“Here,” he says, and before you can protest, he’s pressing it into your hand. “Another one for your collection.”

Except he doesn’t actually remove his hand from yours, fingertips brushing against your palm, the shell cupped between your hand and his. You look up and realize how close he’s standing, and you inhale sharply. His eyes are locked with yours, and you can’t hear the waves anymore because your heart is pounding in your ears.

“Can I…” he says, and time seems to slow.  _“Mahiru,”_  he says, softly, delicately, as though your name is something precious and fragile. “Can I kiss you?”

You’re not sure if you can breathe, but you nod, yes. Yes, of course. Yes, please.

He leans down, one hand resting against your cheek with steady fingers, and he kisses you. The sun sinks below the horizon. You’re too busy to notice.


End file.
